


Transition

by DictionaryWrites



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Amorality, Bodyswap, Complicated Relationships, Dirty Talk, Discussions of Gender Dysphoria, Humiliation, M/M, Power Dynamics, Rough Sex, Transgender, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:20:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22139188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: Peter always enjoys it, when Elias takes on a new body.This time is a bit different to the usual - he knew when he picked Elias Bouchard as his next body, of course, that the man was transgender. The exciting thing will be Peter's response.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas
Comments: 15
Kudos: 180





	Transition

**Author's Note:**

> I prompted this on the kink meme but I just couldn't stop thinking about it, so!
> 
> Elias and Peter are horrible bastard men and will BE horrible bastard men. Peter WILL be degrading and generally awful and ignorant, just a head's up.

It always took a few weeks of adjustment to accustom to a new body.

Elias was well-used to the transition at this point, but it was nonetheless a transition – unpredictable, strange, with oddities he could not truly _know_ from the outside. It was only once he slipped into his new skin that its peculiarities made themselves truly known.

Elias Bouchard was taller than James Wright had been – James had been a rather average man, relatively light of build, but comfortably round. He’d always looked terribly warm and cheerful, with his rounded cheeks and button nose, his prim way of conducting himself, a little square man with rounded edges. Elias had worn that body differently, of course – he’d stopped slouching, as James had done, had stopped smiling like a fool all the time, but the body had still been the same.

And Elias was taller, very nearly six feet in height, and with broad, strong shoulders. Rather than being square with rounded edges, his shape was distinctly triangular – the shoulders were broad where the waist was narrow, the hips just a little wider. He certainly liked the muscle in place – the shoulders all but _rippled_, and the arms were very nicely defined.

Peter would like that.

It was an afterthought, of course, distant and far from crucial, in the scheme of things, but—

Relevant.

But there was—

He had _Known_, of course.

Distantly. Elias had been nervous about it, from time to time, and Elias recalled a conversation they’d had, where he hadn’t been smoking all day, and the two of them had been working closely, side-by-side. Elias had been so very _uncertain_ of James Wright, until he had realised that despite Elias’ apparently cold demeanour, he was one of modern sensibilities.

Elias had kissed James, once. It had been—

Rather disgustingly _twee_. So eager, so sweet, his mouth still tasting strongly of herb, and James couldn’t help but think at the time that it was rather lucky for Elias that the time for his end was coming so soon, before Peter could decide he wanted to take the handsome archival assistant with the penchant for marijuana home with him for the evening.

He hadn’t been _cruel_ to the young man. It had been silly of him, reaching for a man so many years his senior, but so shy as he was beneath his loud and cheerful outer shell… He’d even been _kind_, sending him off with some nephew of Gertrude’s, and they’d had a lovely few weeks together, until Elias had taken the skin for his own.

Elias had been from a rather well-to-do family, a private lot. His parents were dead now, of course, and the sister, too – there remained, Elias believed, a handful of distant cousins, but none who would be any trouble, and certainly none who would know him well enough to note the difference in his personality, and Gertrude’s nephew, well. He knew better than to get attached to anybody in the Institute’s orbit.

When James had set him abroad with Elias, he had expected it would lead to his own demise, in some fashion or other. No doubt, he suspected… _something_, but what matter was that?

Walking in Elias’ body was different, of course – the legs were longer, and the shape of his shoulders, his waist, was different. He had to adjust his gait, his posture, even bend his head at times in a way he never did before.

The strangest thing to get used to was how his trousers fit him, strangely enough. It felt very… _flat_. His briefs felt strangely empty at the front, and Elias had worn such tightly tailored trousers that he was loath to be rid of – they did wonderful things for the shape of his backside, and yet the crotch felt so _loose_.

Some men had scars on their chests, from surgeries to remove their breasts, but Elias had never been busty, had always been rather flat-chested even before he started testosterone at nineteen years old, and now the swell at the chest was scarcely even noticeable, just an ever-so-slight softness when Elias pressed on the flesh, barely even two handfuls. That was part of why the young Elias had become so passionate where body building was concerned, although it was far from the only reason – he’d liked how exercise made him feel, had enjoyed the camaraderie in the gym.

And as for…

Well, what to call it? The Elias now gone had never liked to use a word for it, had avoided directly referencing it, had actually been saving his holidays up to go for his next surgery, but it didn’t really trouble Elias. It felt _strange_, certainly, and sitting down to go the bathroom was a novelty, but it was—

Fine.

He supposed it didn’t matter what word he chose. Whatever Peter chose to call it would stick.

What word would he use? Cunny? Channel? _Vulva_ was far too scientific, vagina more so – twat, perhaps? Slit?

The thought of Peter’s coarse, crude language rather made him hot under the collar, in all truth. Peter always got ever so excited when Elias moved from one body to another, excited to trace the lines of a new form, to rediscover what brought his partner pleasure anew, to go over every feature of his body as though he hoped to jot them down on a map post-coitus. And in this case…

Peter could be so filthy when it suited him. He was a sailor, after all, and he often came home from his travels eager to sink into Elias, to fuck him until he could scarcely breathe, call him every degrading name that came to his mind.

This, Elias almost – deliciously – dreaded.

What would Peter call him? How would Peter refer to him? What new flagellation would he lay on Elias’ shoulders?

Which was why, when Peter initially came home from the _Tundra_ after _seven years_ apart, Elias shoved him away when Peter tried to kiss him, and Peter shivered, showing his pleasure at being so rejected, at being pushed aside.

It was all part of their dance, after all.

The second time, Peter was somewhat less delighted, his irritation showing in his face as Elias shoved him away.

“Some of us have work to be getting on with, Peter,” Elias had said darkly, and when he’d turned to walk away, Peter’s hand had clapped down so hard on Elias’ arse that he’d nearly cried out, instead gritting his teeth together to keep from letting out the noise. The smack made a sound, though, ringing off the walls and ceiling of the hallway, a sound of pure obscenity.

“Later, then,” Peter had rumbled, stormy eyes full of promise.

And now he was back, at precisely seven o’clock on the dot – Elias ought have finished work at 6:30, the rest of the staff having long since left the Institute, but for the cleaners who’d be working until nine or so.

Peter caught him in the corridor, shoved him against the wall and pressed their mouths together. Elias had to suppress his sigh before he let it escape into Peter’s mouth, but seven years apart was ever so long, and Peter’s mouth was _warm_. He tasted of salt and sea air, and Elias allowed Peter to push him back against the wall, let Peter’s fingers trail down his chest through Elias’ shirt.

He laughed, then, and Elias felt himself shudder at the sound of it, at the edge in it.

“Had rather a soft chest, this Elias of yours, didn’t he?” Peter asked, nipping at Elias’ neck as he dragged at his shirt so hard that the buttons popped and fell to the ground with little clicks against the wood parquet, and Elias groaned as Peter’s palms rubbed roughly against his nipples, squeezing his breasts together. “Almost enough to fuck between, these – James had nicer tits, though, I liked those better.”

“Let go of me, Peter,” Elias said sharply, stepping hard on Peter’s instep so that he’d loosen his grip, but when he tried to pull away, Peter grabbed him by the hair. Elias’ hair was still longer than he liked it – he could have gotten a haircut earlier, but he wanted Peter to enjoy it, to have a handhold, and the tug on his scalp was _exquisite_. Oh, to be sure, his nipples were dulled in sensation compared to how they had been once, but the drag on his scalp was a divine, aching pain, and he looked up at Peter with defiance in his eyes, showing his teeth.

“I just want to see what this new body is like,” Peter said lowly, eyes narrowed. “I like this game of ours, sweetheart, but there’s a limit to my patience.”

“I wasn’t aware you were in possession of patience, Peter,” Elias said, and Peter grabbed him by the crotch.

It felt good. It was subtler pleasure than having a hand grasp about his cock – which only made sense, given how much of the sensitive tissue was now internal rather than external – but it felt _good_, a delicious thrill running through him, and yet the true pleasure was in Peter’s face, in the widening of his eyes, the slow part of his lips.

It was with delight, with sheer excitement, that he said, “A _woman_?”

“No, Peter,” Elias said, patiently. “Transgender.”

“What?”

The blankness in Peter’s eyes was all but complete – he always did have more sea water in his head than brain matter.

“He was going to have reconstructive surgery,” Elias murmured. “He never felt he was a woman – his body always felt wrong to him. He was going to have this,” he pulled Peter’s hand more fully against him, sighing at the pleasure of the heel of Peter’s hand grinding against his clit, “made into a penis.”

“Are you?” Peter asked, sounding more curious than anything else, and Elias shrugged his shoulders. Impatient as he was, he could be so easily distracted, and yet even as he asked the question his fingers were seeking out the zipper on Elias’ trousers, dragging it down with his thumb.

“I don’t believe so,” Elias said mildly, letting Peter tip him back against the wall, unbuttoning his waistband. “It doesn’t bother me as it did him. Why, does it bother you?”

“Not at all,” Peter murmured, showing all his teeth, his eyes glittering as he grinned. “I’ve always dreamed of getting you pregnant, James.”

Elias considered, in an idle sort of way, the value in pointing out to Peter the scar that dragged horizontally above his groin, a thick line of pink scar tissue that shone a little in the low light – the evidence of the hysterectomy and salpingo-oophorectomy that Elias had had performed, but really, what was the point? Peter would hardly be able to grasp any word with so many syllables, and if the fantasy suited him, it troubled Elias not at all.

“Is that so?”

“I want to get you into a bed,” Peter said, and he dragged his own coat around Elias’ shoulders, hurriedly. “I want to get my mouth on that new cunt of yours.”

Cunt.

It was as coarse as he expected, and Elias felt more heat flood downward, felt himself… It wasn’t precisely the same as getting hard, although he could feel that his clit was more sensitive, perhaps a little more swollen with blood – there was a wonderful, rushing tingle that spread through him. He was _wet_.

“Very well,” Elias said, doing his best to sound collected and calm, rather than heady and desperate. “Take me, then.”

“Oh, _darling_,” Peter laughed, dragging him by the front of his ripped shirt, toward the exit, heedless of the fact that Elias’ office door was still wide open, the lights still on. “I’m saving that for last.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Feel free to hit up [my ask on Tumblr.](http://patricianandclerk.tumblr.com/ask) Requests open.
> 
> I have a Magnus Archives discord! [Join here!](https://discord.gg/c9aZWDz)


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